David Diop Poems >>
Africa

Africa my Africa
Africa of pround warriors in ancestral savannahs
Africa of whom my grandmlother sings
On the banks of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my viens
Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery
Africa, tell me Africa
Is this your back that is bent
This back that makes under the weight of humilation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun
But a grave voice answer me
Impetuous child that tree young and strong
That tree over there
Splendidly alone  amidst white and faded flowers
That is your Africa springing up anew
springing up patiently obstinately
Whose fruit bit by bit acquire
The bitter taste of liberty.